I manage to slip out the back without running into them and pull out some of the primary sources. Previously, all I focused on was folklore. Now I want facts.
There are letters sent between Darian and Lynette, and even though most of them relate to business, there are personal ones as well. Nothing that would reveal a relationship, but a strong suggestion that they wanted to be together.
There are some missing as well. This isn’t the whole story.
Towards the end of the record, there’s a sudden lack of notes, and the book ends with Darian taking ownership of the land and Lynette recorded as deceased.
What the fuck happened?
I slam the book shut and grab one of the folklore books I’ve read before. As I read through each page, dots connect in my mind—all the spaces in the history books could be filled with answers, if you start believing in witches and wolves.
The manor. It has the worst vibes of any place I’ve ever been, and I think I know why.
“Hyacinth!”
The sharp voice makes me jump so hard, I almost fall right out of my chair. I look up to see Shane in the doorway, a scowl on his face.
“Oh, hi,” I reply. “I was just taking my lunch break.”
“It’s five in the evening,” Shane says. “And your girls closed the bakery already.”
“It’s that late?” I ask. “I swear, I haven’t been here that long.”
“Swear to any gods you like—that’s what the clock says. What are you doing back here?”
“Research,” I answer. “I just had an idea I wanted to check out.”
“Don’t just disappear,” he says, an almost desperate note in his voice. “I couldn’t find you, and I didn’t know what to do.”
My irritation rises, and I get ready to accuse him of being a creep, but when I look closely at him, I see how pale he is. The gem-like beauty of his blue eyes has dimmed to the point that they look almost white.
A bolt of fear stabs through my chest, and I hurry over to him, touching his forehead.
“You aren’t hot,” I say. “But definitely clammy. Do you feel sick?”
“A little.”
“Let me clean up here, and we’ll head straight home, okay?”
“Okay,” he replies, leaning on the wall.
I hurry to put the books away, then go back to his side, checking his forehead again.
“I don’t think the state of my head would have changed in the last ten minutes,” he says wryly.
“That’s true. I just don’t know what else to do.”
“Let’s get home,” he says. “I need to lie down. I haven’t been to the infirmary, either, and I really should.”
“Not like this, you shouldn’t,” I reply, holding his hand. “You look awful.”
“You need to work on your compliments,” Shane tries to joke. “Seriously, though. Ihaveto check in at the infirmary.”
“Okay,” I reply. “If you’re up to it.”
Shane turns to walk out of the room, and barely takes a step before his legs fail him. I rush forward, putting an arm around his waist and supporting him.
“Shane! Are you okay?”
